The Awakening

This rain is too pure, all is red here. Look how stained this earth looks, no amount of flood could ever wash this away. You have no strength, no voice, no courage. You see yourself in their face like a ghost with no tongue; The transparency that transpires as they take over. The wickedness within is reflected, is mirrored, as your own reflection slowly decays Into the awkwardly stubby longing that is breaking its bounds. You have given nothing, yet you feel the white being washed clean off your bones. This white slowly fading to red. You are rendered speechless; all emotion stolen. You are a body. No soul, no heart, no tear will come of you. A television screen flickers in your mind. Your body is stone, made from the hardest granite. You are empty as the drunkards wine glass. You feel yourself slowly turning into red. Your body is a vice for them; they call upon you with their ambition. Call upon you as a master calls upon his pupil. They bring severity; they feverishly scrub you clean. Their sharp bristles hack at your forsaken color. Your sound is rendered silent by their smile. Your limbs deteriorate like paper in the rain. Now you are falling, so quickly through the polluted air, As you slowly become red. Time slowly ticks away as you walk on and on. You walk as if the days were endless. The rain feels so pure; the earth is flooded here. The enduring current carries them away. There is a silence that surrounds you. There is an hour that anticipates you. There is a reflection that beholds you. For you are red.